


Point of Entry

by dubberclick



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Beauty and the Beast Elements, Kinda, Lovecraftian, M/M, Middle Ages, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, on god i just wanted to do beauty and the beast but horror yknow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:35:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24663970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dubberclick/pseuds/dubberclick
Summary: He dreams sometimes. He'll see faces and hear laughter, feeling the raw emotion in each word. He sees bright skies and cold rooms. He thinks they're memories, but they're too fragmented to ever piece together sequences. Sometimes if he remembers his dreams, he can recognize things. Faces, voices, buildings. Though, the only thing he ever tends to remember is red and the agonizing pain that comes with.He doesn't like to dream.
Relationships: Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Point of Entry

**Author's Note:**

> i hope i finish this.

He'd been told ever since he was young.

_ A beast lives in the southern woods. _

_ The shadows are alive. _

_ Nothing lives there. _

_ Light doesn't reach past the first few trees. _

He'd been told for as long as his memories last.  _ "A beastie is in those trees, Gavin. Never set foot past the clearing." _

He tried once, when he was a year before boyhood, first discovering the cruelties of life. He'd gone to the treeline, far from anyone in his village, and tried to see past the inky black just a few strides out of reach. He remembers how the shadows moved, how the air was silent of buzzing or chirping. How after only a minute of searching, a pitch black tendril separated from the mass to crawl along the grassy floor towards him.

He'd never gone back.

Sometimes when the memory of that wandering hand wasn't enough to scare him to silence, he'd try asking. His mother and anyone else he had the nerve to talk to all replied they couldn't remember. It has been there as long as they have, as far as anyone knows.

No one speaks of the beastie more than necessary. Not the nobles in the northeast, the gossipers in the central market square, or the commoners to the southwest. It was a warning to children and a fright to adults. As far as he knows, he could have been the only one to get so close.

He left only a year after. It was very easy to do, despite a young age, when one is not tied down by nobility or a family.

* * *

He's awakened with a knife to his throat. The pinch just above his pulse sends ice through his veins, but he feigns calm as he opens his eyes.

The woman smiles down at him and his blood turns to boiling as he looks at her unique eyes and chipped front tooth. She pulls the knife away before he can grab it and Gavin snarls at her when he sits up. She sheaths the hunting knife back into her hip pouch with indifference and he masks his dread with rage.

"How the fuck did you find me?" 

He hates the look she gives him. "Your father trained the _ both _ of us." And it was answer enough. He hated it. He quickly tried to piece together where he'd gone wrong. Had he stayed in one place too long? Had he said something too personal to a wandering ear?

Fuck, he'd been doing good for the years, too. He hoped they'd forgotten about him. Fuck.

"If you're here to take me back, y-"   
  


"It's your mother, Gavin." Tina's voice is stern and he silences. Her arms are crossed over her hunting attire. A short brown tunic and dark, leather pants were adorned with straps and ties that held all her gear close to her body, and Gavin recognized the black cloak that hung over her shoulders to hide the bow strapped to her back. He wonders if it's the same one as when they were kids. He doubts it.

"I know you didn't come back for any of us, but do it for her. You're all she asks about." Tina's voice is bitter and Gavin allows himself to feel only a shred of guilt. His feelings were never easy to understand. He'd loved both Tina and his mother, but hated them both for similar reasons. He loved when his mother used to patch up his wounds and care for him, but hated that she'd let it happen in the first place.

"Did my father send you?" He questions. He moves the blanket off him and stands up, dressed in his only sleeping shirt and shorts.

Tina watches him, but does not hesitate, "Yes."

Gavin's scars itch. He can feel every ugly emotion he has fester at this information, but he swallows and focuses on keeping himself calm. "I'm disappointed that bastard hasn't died yet."

She doesn't reply and Gavin is grateful. He hates hearing anything about his father that isn't his own hatred and rage. The people of his village respected his father like a noble and Tina, presumably, still isn't an exception.

He grabs his own knife from under his pillow and places it on the dresser next to him where his gear is stashed. He strips from his night clothes while Tina pokes around his temporary room.

"Would've figured you'd put up more of a fight." She comments, sending him only an accusatory glance.

He dresses in his black shirt and pants, then makes way at strapping all his gear to his body. Knife, bandages, salt, compass- among others. "What makes you think I still won't?" He replies. He sits back on the bed and buckles his boots up his legs one at a time.

She gives him another look. "Unless you've grown patience with that beard, you're still impulsive. You would have fought me when I had a knife to your throat, but you didn't. Plus," she adds, pulling off one of the two dusty books from the old, empty bookshelf to page through, "I like to believe in that sour heart of yours, you still care for me."

Gavin grinds his teeth.  _ I don't,  _ he wants to say. He ignores her instead, moving to the floor to pull out his own bow and quiver of arrows from under the bed. The bow is new. He was forced to upgrade a couple years ago when the pub he'd been sleeping at caught fire and the only thing he saved were the clothes on his back and his quiver. He was conflicted on the bow- it was incredibly more efficient than his old one, but he wouldn't have parted with the other if he could. He's forced to live with it.

The quiver itself hasn't changed. Sturdy leather with designs Gavin still finds himself gazing at every now and then. There's a moon theme on one side, and the opposite sun on the other. The strap is old and frayed, but Gavin taught himself needlework so he'd be able to fix things himself, so the strap holds together by somewhat haphazard stitching. 

The arrows inside are both new and old in equal measure. Most times Gavin only needs to replace an arrowhead, but there are other times where the arrow is lost or is too much effort and coin to fix. He doesn't care much about the arrows, so it's easier for him to replace such.

The bow still grates his nerves sometimes. He'll move to grip it in the wrong place or knock an arrow just a bit too low and it reminds him of what he lost. The recurve is better, he tells himself. He tells himself the design is nice and it's easier to conceal and carry, but those are fleeting thoughts.

He stands and fastens the bow strap around his chest, adjusting so the it stays firm on his back, then hangs the quiver on top. He doesn't have a cloak to hide his like Tina- both because the bow would be in a low, awkward position; and that he has no reason to hide. 

Tina abandons the book and moves to the door, watching him. He takes another glance behind him at the bed and dresser to make sure he hadn't missed anything. He usually doesn't have much to loose track of.

Gavin turns and meets Tina's eyes and he hesitates. The only things same about her are her thin brown eyes, her chipped tooth from when they were kids, and her long black hair. The rest was changed as she became a woman and Gavin wasn't there at her side. He could see new scars on her, common of their lifestyle, but nothing drastic.

Nothing like his.

His skin crawls as he walks to her, as she opens the door and they walk down the stairs to the pub. It's still early morning so patrons aren't bustling and loud like the nights, but there are a couple old boys at the bar for a morning drink. They fix him and Tina a watchful glare and he ignores them. The owner is already paid, so he weaves past splintered tables and creaky floorboards and opens the door to the light.

He steps out and squints into the sky and it takes a second for him to figure out if it's white or blue. After a few blinks he deciphers the white are clouds slowly moving across the sky. There isn't much wind and the air doesn't feel too dry or wet. It's a beautiful day and that means not a great day for hunting, so he scowls and leaves it at that.

Tina doesn't falter in the morning light and Gavin grumbles. He could book it if he wanted. The bow under her cloak would make it quite hard to run while hanging there, but he knows he would only get a few villages away before she found him again. If she found him at his best, she would definitely find him while he's panicked.

They walk down the square and Gavin feels like he's walking his death sentence. He doesn't want to return, to see what his village turned into. He doesn't want to see how his mother and father aged. He doesn't want to see abandoned buildings or new ones. He doesn't want to see the people he used to call friends.

He watches Tina's back as they walk, seeing the point of the bow press against the fabric at her shoulder. He wonders if she's married. If he remembers right, she's around his age in the mid twenties.

"Got a palfrey?" She throws over her shoulder.

"No." He replies. Kids play in the gravel street to his left and a horse-pulled wagon creaks by on his right. His black attire soaks in the little sunlight poking through the clouds and he enjoys the heat for a small moment. Knowing the ride to his village would feel like ice.

"Good." Tina says and she leads them to a jewelry market booth where a large mare ate grass where she was tied. Her coat was white, mottled with black spots and black hooves. Her mane and tail were black and she really was a beautiful animal.

Tina unclasps her bow underneath her cloak and Gavin stares at it. 

It's fancy- bulky. It looks more expensive than everything Gavin owns and his stomach churns. It looks reinforced, dark in color, but longer than his. _She always was a sniper._

He could afford a palfrey like hers if he skipped a couple meals and was in the woods before the sun rose, but to afford that kind of bow, too?  _ She has to be married,  _ he thinks,  _ or she's doing better than I ever have _ . 

He pauses.  _ No, that's my father's hand. He must have been desperate. _

He  _ did _ wonder every couple moons what his father did after he left. Apparently Tina was the answer.

He watches his very old friend fasten her quiver to the horse's side and untie the reins from the post. When she mounts the mare, he walks closer and knocks a knuckle into her bow. 

"Still under his thumb, huh?" He says. Gavin can't decipher the look she sends him, but finds his answer in the silence. He reaches out and gives the palfrey's snout a couple pats before hoisting himself behind Tina. She waits until he stops adjusting before giving the reins a soft snap.

He watches the small markets and cottages pass. A couple kids wave and a couple adults nod.

When they tread off the gravel to a worn path through the trees, he realizes it was a goodbye.


End file.
